


Too Late

by bunsterjonez



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, F/M, Tony Stark Has Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 11:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunsterjonez/pseuds/bunsterjonez
Summary: Written for a Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Song prompt was Numb by Linkin Park (because Tony Stark's not emo enough for me, apparently lol). Would love to revisit this sometime in the future, though. This is "technically" an AU, but since Alternate Timelines are a thing in the MCU now, it could be either/or.--BJ





	Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Writing Challenge on Tumblr. Song prompt was Numb by Linkin Park (because Tony Stark's not emo enough for me, apparently lol). Would love to revisit this sometime in the future, though. This is "technically" an AU, but since Alternate Timelines are a thing in the MCU now, it could be either/or.--BJ

The name Tony Stark had always been synonymous with excess. There was never too much when it came to him. Money. Cars. Women. Notoriety. That he could deal with.… but there was always far too much regret to numb with it all.

The Battle of New York had rattled him. Natasha apprehended at The Raft crippled him. Cap gone and nowhere to be found had broken him. And you had-

“Tony.”

Your voice was gentle, yet still startled him out of a half-drunk stupor, his arm sliding off the desk and eyes frantically scanning the workshop.

Disassembled Iron Man suits littered the space to a dangerous degree. Clint’s hearing aids, a hundred prototypes strewn across a drafting table. Natasha’s widow stingers, same story. A new vibranium shipment from King T’Challa had arrived that morning, along with a a personal invitation to a fundraiser he’d largely ignored. But you were nowhere in sight.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” your disembodied words continued, reverberating around the room and piercing his heart. “But King T’Challa is calling, shall I put him through?”

Tony’s shaking hands reached for a glass, remnants of a drink that was hours old, emptying it entirely. “No.” he said simply, clearing his throat after harsh swallow.

“He says it’s urgent.”

Tony shut his eyes. He hadn’t fully realized what he was doing when he programmed the A.I. protocols to simulate your voice. Maybe he thought it would help him he’d dissociate; desensitize himself from the heartbreak of your absence. Or maybe he just wanted to torture himself.

“Fine, put him through.” He rubbed the sleep from his face, and fixed himself another drink from the bar as T’Challa’s face materialized in the center of the room.

“I’m not going to beg you, Tony,” he began, but Tony didn’t give him a chance to continue.

“Then don’t,” he replied. “I do get a kick out of it, though.”

“How long are you planning to keep shutting yourself off like this?” The King fixed him with a stern eye, while Tony walked right through his projection to sit back on his desk. 

“Look, the Royal Decree is impressive,” Tony said absentmindedly, screwing and unscrewing spare parts without any purpose. “But there are… things I need to take care of.” 

_Need too much_.

He shook his head from the echoing words, swatting away the bitter memory that lingered along with your presence.

“And this fundraising event is one of them,” T’Challa said with a tone of finality. “If you want Wakanda to continue our partnership with Stark Industries, you will make an appearance. And clean up nice,” he added, slight amusement on his face as Tony looked down at his stained shirt and tattered pants. “I know you can do that, at least.”

He hung up before Tony could protest.

***

“Will you be requiring an escort?” 

Tony rolled his eyes as he buttoned up his suit, checking his cuff links in the mirror. “Finding a date’s never been a problem for me.” Even if he showed up without one, he was bound to leave with at least five. Who knows? It might actually do him some good to get out of the house tonight after all.

“How could I forget?”

His gaze lingered on his reflection, as the full measure of the words hit him. Your words. Perhaps he’d done too good a job of programming.

“Wish I could,” he muttered under his breath. He received no reply, but the guilt had already spread throughout. He shook his head, trying to rid himself from it. It was just a program, he kept reminding himself. It wasn’t you. You were long gone. 

_My fault_.

Tony practically sprinted down to his garage. At the very least, he’d manage to escape your voice tonight.

***

If excess is what Tony wanted, he’d come to the right place for it. 

Between the cameras flashing upon his arrival, the drinks being shoved into his hand, and the manicured fingers that fawned and tugged at his tailored suit, clamoring for his attention, Tony could practically drown himself in it. He wouldn’t make it home in the morning if he could help it.

It was far too easy to fall back into his old patterns. A winning smile here, a sharp wink there. Tony Stark was in the building, nobody able to resist his charm. There was no legitimate reason to not enjoy himself. If not for the irrational impulse he had to rush out, back to his solitude, with only your echos to keep him company.

The sight of the bar to his left almost made him pant, a waterlogged victim in tremulous waters reaching for an anchor. But his steps slowed down to a sudden halt merely a few feet away.

You were wrapped in gold, shining brightly like the Sun itself. The soft fabric, seemingly made from its rays, hugged your body and flowed gracefully down your legs. You tilted your head back, and sparkling diamonds blinded him to everything around him.

Maybe he’d run into Rhodey and convince him to fly out with him somewhere. Anywhere.

But just then your eyes caught his, and he was suspended in midair. Your lips parted slightly in surprise. Clearly you hadn’t been expecting him to make an appearance. Slipping your arm not-so-subtly away from the tuxedoed blonde by your side, you turned away, towards the bar, your hand signaling at the man tending behind it.

The back of your dress flustered him far more than the front had. Tony approached precariously. The tall blonde spotted him, aiming for a frantic attempt at conversation, which Tony supposed might be enthralling to someone. 

But not to him. No, Tony’s eyes were still on your smooth exposed skin, peeking out from more golden threads, his feet leading him hopelessly, helplessly next to you.

The way your fingers tensed around the edge of the mahogany surface didn’t escape him. No detail about you ever did. Especially now.

“Tony,” you merely said. A wary acknowledgement, but the sound of your voice still managed to jumpstart his heart.  _Too real_. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“You know me. Full of surprises.”

The morose smile that barely curled your lips spoke louder than if you’d uttered a single word.  _I remember_.

Another gulp, and Tony tried to mask it by downing the remains of his cocktail, only to cough rather violently as you averted your eyes. Well, that was embarrassing. But he was always a walking spectacle. And tonight would be no exception.

“Two perfect Manhattans, por favor,” he called to the young bartender, dropping a few bills in the tip jar.

“Double wielding already?” you sniffed, lips pursed disapprovingly. His eyes flashed for a second, as you continued to avoid the calculating intensity of his gaze. “It’s not even 9 yet.”

“Oh, so you don’t want a drink?” he said pointedly, and you scoffed in return. “See, that’s what the bar is for, hon.”

“Boulevardier,” you flawlessly drawled to the sheepish-looking kid, who shuffled shiftily away, trying to avoid the tense exchange in front of him.

“Whiskey?” Tony wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Since when?”

“Since right now.” Your eyes had turned cold, and he felt himself freeze under them. But between the haze of the fast-acting liquor, the taste lingering in his lips, and the blur of seeing you – perfectly radiant you – in front of him again, it didn’t take long for his signature smirk to creep back onto his face. Good recovery.

“Didn’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Tony–”

“It’s fine,” he said offhandedly, gulping down drinks one and two easily, you rolling your eyes at the spectacle. “It’s a party after all. We’re all here for a good time, not a long time.”

Your retort had to wait, as you were quickly interrupted by the blonde, his eyes far too eager at the prospect of rubbing shoulders with the infamous Tony Stark.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” he asked you, a slight edge in his voice, though his perfect teeth almost masked his annoyance at the previous slight.

“Aldritch Killian,” you began, and Tony didn’t miss the resigned sigh behind your words. “Tony Stark.”

“The Man of Iron himself,” Aldritch shook his hand excitedly, but Tony’s gaze still rested on you, sipping your drink as though it was the only thing that might get your through the night. He could relate.

“It’s ‘Iron Man’, actually. Dunno if you watch the news.”

He saw you almost choke on your whiskey, eyes glittering, as Aldritch stammered awkward apologies heard by no one.

“You mind if I borrow your date for a dance, Alden?”

“Aldritch, Mr. Stark–”

“My apologies,” Tony said with obviously feigned contriteness, grabbing hold of your hand and steering your perplexed, yet amused, self towards the dance floor. “I swear I’ll get it right at some point.”

“That was rude,” you reprimanded him, though Tony could see the corners of your mouth twitch. It took every ounce of his self-control to not bring you closer still. He briefly marveled at how perfectly his hand still fit on your waist, though he promptly thought the fabric of your dress too coarse. How he longed to rip the gold off of you in a darkened corner, just so he could feel your skin instead…

“He’s not your type.” A muted petulance in his words, but you seemed to ignore it.

“He’s  _work_ ,” you said, barely moving your lips as you glanced and shot a winning smile at the now flustered Killian, who seemed to relax slightly at your gaze. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blow this for me tonight.”

“Interesting,” Tony’s curious eyes scanned the room, craning his neck in Killian’s direction, where the man shifted uncomfortably. “What’s he into? Guns? Tech?”

“Bio-chemical warfare.” Tony’s eyes went wide at your words. “Well, we think.”

“ _Him_? Really?”

“There’s a vaccine,” you explained, albeit in a tone that clearly stated this was the last thing you wanted to be discussing with Tony at the moment. He silently agreed. He’d rather not talk at all, not while your thighs grazed his with every swaying motion, or how your breath felt fresh and sweet against his face.

“Claims it’s a cure-all. Wants to push it through mass production and distribution without FDA approval. Says he’s just a simple man looking to save the world.” Your eyes narrowed. “I’m here to find out who he really is.”

“And who does he think  _you_ are tonight?”

“Not SHIELD.” Your steely stare made it clear she’d said enough. But Tony wasn’t one to quit. He was too far gone for that.

“We should come up with a cover story,” he insisted. “I’ll be the old flame from MIT. Didn’t realize what I had until–”

“That’s not much of a story, Tony.” But the warning in your voice went unheard.

“C’mon, it’s perfect!”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

He bit the inside of his lip, cringing inwardly. Yes, he was baiting you. But even when you bit back, you always managed to disarm him so effortlessly, making him feel like he was bare naked in the middle of the crowded hall.

The music shifted into a lighter tune, causing others around you to disperse, as your eyes remained locked together. And Tony didn’t feel up to let you go just yet.

“Need me to watch your back?”

“I can take care of myself.”

It took him awhile to realize you hadn’t stepped away from his embrace. He was too lost in his head, too busy thinking of tomorrow, when he’d arrive back at his mansion, lock himself in his workshop, and continue haunting himself with lame copies of all that he had lost. 

He would have seen the silent pleading behind your eyes, waiting to hear him say he’d wait for you to finish the job. Hoping he’d take you back, to the place you once called home, granting your one wish and feel his hands on you all night.

But by the time it all clicked in place, you were already walking away from him.

Again.

_Too late._


End file.
